if only
by a lovely idiot
Summary: Lelouch&Shirley: —I want to go to where you are.
1. Farther than Before

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**Farther than Before**

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When he turns his back and walks away, he can already feel the distance spread.

He knows that she's staring at him with curious eyes; face set in an expression of wonder, like she knows him but doesn't, like his name is on the tip of her tongue but not actually there.

A darker side of him, the one ready to accept all of this, quietly wonders how deep the distance will become; will she herself soon be far out of sight, out of reach?

Still, he likes to wonder what could have been if he held on to her.

_a/n. originally posted at muntiirhythm, 6/24/08._


	2. Ostinato

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**Ostinato**

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It's raining, rather hard she notices, when she finally remembers.

There's the tipping of an umbrella somewhere far away, someone acting like a gentleman. Even though she's already soaked to the bone, and he barely, he still does it. Perhaps she would have praised him for his kindness _(they had that kind of relationship, she knows, all prodding words and concerned eyes)_ but she couldn't that day.

Definitely not that day; her dad died. Her nice dad, kind dad, good dad was killed.

And the way he was so shocked about it, the way his mouth had hung open in a tiny gasp, how his eyes widened out of sheer horror rather than disbelief, she should have noticed it. But then there was falling into his lean arms, grabbing onto his sleeves for dear life. There was a kiss, too, somewhere in between it all.

She stares ahead of her as the memories go by, shopping stores and sidewalks all right ahead, but all she can _see hear feel touch smell breathe_ is him.

So she wonders if the rain is making him remember, reminisce. She wonders just a little.

_a/n. originally posted at muntiirhythm, 6/30/08._


	3. How I wish

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**How I wish.**

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She wasn't lying when she said she wanted to be the truthful thing for him.

Maybe it was stupid, but it was nice to think that she could be that thing he could look back on to remember what life was before Zero, to remind him not to lose himself in the blood and the carnage.

It would be her job to make sure he wouldn't get lost before finding his end, and she would be sure to do it.

But as she lied in her own blood, life slipping every second, she knew that it was impossible all along.

_a/n. originally posted at muntiirhythm, 3/1/09._


	4. a blanket weaved of stars

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**a blanket weaved of stars**

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If she thought about it logically, there couldn't be much she could do.

She was not a fighter, did not have the resolve to shoot someone in cold blood; to _protect_, yes, but she was not someone who could force herself to murder for a greater good. In all honesty, he might have not even accepted her into his Black Knights – even if he did, she was sure he wouldn't have her do something such as that.

Perhaps all that was needed of her was to _be_ there for him, to be awaiting him at the end of the day, to listen to him and soothe his worries when he could not rest. She would keep the lights low, whisper silly things in his ear and tell tales to keep his focus elsewhere. It would not be much, but she would do it if it helped return a tiny piece of happiness.

That would have been nice, she thinks. Very, very nice.

_a/n. originally posted at muntiirhythm, 3/16/09._


	5. when the morning comes, there you'll be

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**when the morning comes, there you'll be**

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He feels her hand growing colder with each word she says, feels the grip weakening and slipping. No matter what he does, screaming and crying and _please, don't go_, her eyes close, and her hand falls limp.

And he suddenly believes he is dreaming.

He has the strangest urge to lie down next to her, to link their fingers together like she's merely sleeping and he's waiting for her to wake up. It could almost be like a movie—the sunlight shines, morning has come, and she would open her eyes slowly and say, "Good morning, Lulu."

So he waits beside her, waits to see a flutter of lashes and her lips stretching out into a smile. She's not dead, he knows she's not; he just has to wait for the quick intake of breath that comes before waking up.

Hours pass.

It doesn't come.

_a/n. originally posted at muntiirhythm, 7/3/09._


	6. like loosened threads

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**like loosened threads**

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Her heart still skips a beat.

She's sure she doesn't know this boy, this lithe frame with violet eyes. Every time she's tried to think back, to any incidence where she might have met him, all she draws up is a blank. It's certainly strange though—how can she _not_ know him when they're in the same club?

Sometimes, she still has trouble remembering his name. _Lelouch_. Milly and Rivalz have told her that she usually called him Lulu. She tries it out then, lets the l's roll off her tongue, and it fits, like she's said it before. But in her ears, it sounds so odd and foreign, another language of intimacy and friendliness she doesn't know.

But sometimes, when she catches him looking at her—this sad, pained look on his face, like he wants to tell her something so important—her heart stutters for just a second, and she thinks to herself that she wants to take away that pain and keep it with herself forever, just so it wouldn't hurt him.

_I wish I knew him,_ she thinks, she wishes, as they walk away from each other like strangers.

_a/n. originally posted at muntiirhythm, 3/4/10._


End file.
